


peace of mind

by somehowunbroken



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Goalie Nesting (Hockey RPF), Team Bonding, WJC 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 18:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17411999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: "What's wrong?" Dylan asks, and it's not like he checks in with the guys because he expects problems, but part of him is glad he decided to do it, because apparently there is one."It's a goalie thing," Ingram says. "I'm fine. Carter is..."or: It's a few days before the round robin is set to start, and Carter Hart is... a little stressed out.





	peace of mind

**Author's Note:**

> -i fell into a goalie nesting fic hole, and now here we are! this is very gen, which i know is odd for the trope, but... yeah, here we are indeed.
> 
> -thanks to ari and lor and aimee for looking this over!!
> 
> -title is from [the killers' "peace of mind"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tQOkqgpaTW4) because i'm on a kick, y'all.

Dylan knows, objectively, that it's not his job as captain to be the team dad. He also knows himself well enough to know he's gonna kinda be the team dad anyway, but luckily, most of the guys here with him either know him well enough or know _of_ him well enough to just sort of... let him.

"All good in here, Cap," Duber—Short Duber, and seriously, why do they have to have Dubé and Dubois on the same team—says, grinning at him when Dylan knocks on his hotel room door. "Brushed our teeth already and everything, and we promise we'll be good and go to bed after just one more episode of _The Office_."

Or, Dylan amends in his head, they're still little shits, but they don't outright nag him about checking in, so it's whatever.

"Good," he says, rolling his eyes. "Keep it down, no wrestling, be good for your mom."

"Wait, I thought _you_ were Mom," Duber says, frowning. He looks back over his shoulder. "Hey, Juuls, if Stromer's Dad, then who's Mom?"

"Stromer's definitely Mom," Juuls calls back, which makes him Dylan's least favourite psuedo-child, at least for tonight. "Chabs is Dad. Barz is, like, our weird fake uncle who always gives us candy right before he sends us back to our parents."

There's honestly only so far Dylan can argue that, so he just sighs. "You're good, though?"

"We're fine, man," Duber says easily. "Go check on everyone else so you can get some sleep."

"Thanks," Dylan says, taking a step back from the door. "See you tomorrow for—"

"—team breakfast, yes, we know," Duber says. "Night, Stromer."

Dylan smiles as Duber steps back into his room and shuts the door. It's really a great group of guys; he's got a good feeling about this year, and he's trying not to get too excited before the round robin actually starts, but it's not like he has any control whatsoever over what his emotions want to do.

He walks down the hall, checking in with the guys as he goes; it's mostly the same kind of reaction that Duber gave him, the gentle ribbing but good faith answers. Mikey tells Dylan that he should read them all a team bedtime story, which is maybe the highlight of Dylan's night because he gets to start reciting the Dr. Seuss book that he for some reason has had memorised his entire life, and Mikey gets horrified and slams the door in his face before opening it back up and apologising profusely. Mikey's the best, probably, and Dylan's still laughing as he knocks on the last team door.

"Hey, Ingram," Dylan says, smile still on his face. "How's the goalie room?"

"Uh," Ingram says, glancing back over his shoulder. He sounds a little cautious, and Dylan's smile slips a little as he steps out into the hallway, keeping his hand in the frame so the door doesn't shut all the way. "It's... well."

"What's wrong?" Dylan asks, and it's not like he checks in with the guys because he expects problems, but part of him is glad he decided to do it, because apparently there is one.

"It's a goalie thing," Ingram says. "I'm fine. Carter is..."

"Carter is what?" Dylan asks when Ingram doesn't go on. His voice is remarkably even for a guy finding out that his starting goalie is having a "goalie thing" a handful of days before they're supposed to start competing. "What kind of goalie thing? Like, did he pull something in his groin, or is he having nightmares about pucks, or—"

There's a small, hurt-sounding whine from inside the door, and Ingram backs into the room instantly. The door stays open for a few seconds after he disappears into the room, and Dylan doesn't hesitate to follow him inside, catching it and closing it gently behind him. There's an uncomfortable knot in his stomach; he's not sure of what's going on, not totally, but very probably a loud crashing noise isn't going to help Hartsy right now.

"Hey, buddy," Ingram is saying, in a low, soothing tone of voice. "It's okay. I had to answer the door, because Dylan was there. He came by to check on us."

The overhead light is off, but the lamp on the bedstand is on, so Dylan can clearly see everything in the room. It isn't hard to make out Ingram, planting a hand on the sheets of one of the beds so he can lean over. The bed is kind of a wreck, with way more blankets on it than there should be, and there are a lot of team-issued clothes mixed in, too. It's really, really obvious that Hartsy is in the middle of everything, a huge lump bundled up in everything that's in the bed with him, even if he's underneath so much stuff that Dylan can't actually see him at all.

"He's, uh," Dylan says. He knows what he's seeing, and he knows what he's been told, but he also knows that it's not super common. "Is he nesting?"

"Yeah," Ingram says. He's still leaning over, and now his free hand is poking into the pillows, moving around beneath the sheets. "He told me that he thought it might happen. Apparently he does it when there's a bunch of stress with teams he's not familiar with."

This definitely counts, Dylan thinks wryly. "We can, um," he says, taking a step towards the bed. "Would it help having people he knows more? Juuls is right down the hall, and I know he plays Barz pretty often."

"Team helps, whoever it is," Ingram says simply. His hand stops moving, and then he pulls the blankets down, revealing Hartsy's face. "I already called Coach. I'll stay with him, and it'll be fine. You don't need to—"

"No, I do," Dylan says, staring at Hartsy. He's wearing a Team Canada jersey, Dylan can tell, but he's pretty sure there's actually _another_ Team Canada jersey under that. Dylan briefly wonders how many jerseys one guy can wear before deciding that he actually doesn't want the answer to that question even though he's very probably going to find it out soon. "You literally just said that team helps, man. I know you're team, but so am I, right?"

Ingram blinks at him. "Yeah," he says cautiously.

"So he's not gonna, like, bite me or anything," Dylan says, taking another step towards the bed. "He just wants friends?"

"He wants you to climb into his sweaty blanket heap so he can octopus hug you for the next three days," Ingram says, still in the most even tone of voice Dylan's maybe ever heard. It must be a goalie thing. "He's kind of clingy right now."

"Dude," Dylan says, grinning a little. "I can cuddle. I can _so_ cuddle."

Ingram sighs, but he steps back from the bed. "Take your shirt off," he advises. "It's... a lot of blankets."

"I can see that," Dylan says, tugging his shirt over his head. He looks at Hartsy's bed consideringly before shrugging and tossing it on top. It's more Team Canada gear, so the worst it's gonna do is make them a little warmer.

Hartsy sits up, a happy sound coming from him as he grabs Dylan's shirt, pulls it under the covers, lays back down, and pulls the covers up, disappearing completely.

Ingram starts laughing.

"I'm never gonna see it again, am I," Dylan asks, feeling the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Whatever, it's fine. It's not like I don't have more."

Ingram waves at the pile of Team Canada stuff on the bed. "He'll be done with all of it in a few days," he says, grinning. "If you want it back at that point, man, you can have it. Knowing Harts, he's gonna get everything washed and folded and sent back to its original owner anyway."

"True," Dylan says. He walks up to the edge of the bed and looks over at Ingram. "Do I just... get in?"

"Hey, Carter," Ingram says. "Hey, buddy, Dylan wants to cuddle with you. Can you let him in?"

There's rustling from beneath the covers, but nothing else. Dylan chances it, puts his hand on the bed like Ingram had done, leans in. "Hey, Carter," he says, using the tone of voice he usually saves for little kids with big eyes who ask him to sign their jerseys. "How's it going in there, buddy? Got room for one more?"

More sheet rustling, and then one of Hartsy's arms pokes out, hand wrapping around Dylan's wrist. He might be doing his best impression of a really cuddly hibernating bear right now, but damn, he's still strong, Dylan notes with amusement.

"Yeah, no, good luck," Ingram says, shrugging when Dylan glances at him. "You have permission, but I don't have an instruction manual. Go for it."

Dylan snorts and tugs gently, then more firmly when Hartsy doesn't let go. "Gotta let me get in, bud," he says, hoping that Hartsy gets it, but either he thinks it's as funny as Ingram does or he's too far out of it to understand, because his fingers stay firmly locked around Dylan's wrist.

"Here, apple for you," Ingram says. He's clearly amused, but he gets off the other bed and wriggles his arm into Hartsy's nest, finding an actual sheet at the bottom and holding the whole mess up for Dylan. "Quick, man, get in before he starts whining about the cold."

"Text Chabs and Barz," Dylan instructs as he dives in. "Tell them we need to have a captain's meeting, either now or first thing in the morning."

"I'll tell them in the morning," Ingram says as he drops the sheet. It's instantly way too hot; Hartsy's throwing off heat like a furnace, and there's easily fifteen pounds of blankets and clothes on top of them. Hartsy makes a happy humming noise, though, and immediately curls into Dylan's side, throwing an arm across his chest and hooking his leg over Dylan's. Dylan wraps his arm around Hartsy's shoulders and rubs his thumb back and forth against his shoulder, even though there's probably a zero percent chance that he can feel it through everything he's wearing.

"Yeah," Dylan says, voice muffled by the blankets. "Good call."

"Hope you already brushed your teeth, because you're in there for the night," Ingram says cheerily. "Good luck!"

Dylan feels his expression twist, but Hartsy is rubbing his face against Dylan's chest and making a noise that might best be described as purring, so he'll just... brush extra in the morning, he guesses. Whatever. He's here now.

-0-

Dylan wakes up way too overheated. He makes a face and shifts a little, because if Hartsy is still all over him he's gonna have to figure out how to lessen the sheet situation, but he doesn't feel anyone curled around him. He opens his eyes cautiously; the sheet that had been covering his face is gone, and from what he can tell, so is Ingram. Dylan stretches a little, then turns to his right, and—

"Ahhh," Dylan yelps, rolling to the side and only just catching himself before he falls right off the edge of the bed.

Hartsy makes a noise like he's blowing air out, quick-quick-quick, and Dylan thinks he's probably being laughed at.

"Warn a guy," Dylan says, rolling flat onto his back. He has no idea how long Hartsy has been up, but he's propped up on the pillow next to where Dylan had been sleeping, and he'd been staring straight down at Dylan, eyes open wide and unblinking.

He reaches out and combs his fingers through Dylan's hair, and Dylan rolls his eyes, but he smiles. "Feeling okay this morning?"

Hartsy hums a little and keeps his fingers going through Dylan's hair. It's nice, so he just lets it happen for a while, mind wandering to what they're going to do today, how they're going to handle Hartsy's situation while they practice, what Coach is going to have to do with everything that's going on. He turns to look up at Hartsy; he doesn't know a lot about nesting, has no idea whether or not Hartsy's going to remember any of this when he's back to normal, but it can't hurt to talk to him, Dylan figures. "You have shitty timing, bud," he says, making sure his tone is as gentle as he can make it. "But don't worry, okay? We'll figure it out. You don't have to worry."

Hartsy makes a happy noise and beams down at Dylan, patting him gently on the forehead. Dylan smiles at him, then squints a little. "Dude. Did you put my shirt on? _Over_ the jerseys you were already wearing?"

The weird laughing sound comes out of Hartsy's chest again, and he wriggles down the bed to throw an arm over Dylan's chest. Dylan sighs but cuddles him anyway. The shirt is definitely going to be too stretched-out for him to want it back when all of this is over, but it seems to be making Hartsy happy. Taking one for the team, Dylan thinks, or maybe giving one.

Everything's going fine, as calm and cool and collected as anyone in either Dylan's or Hartsy's situations could reasonably be, and then someone knocks on the door, loudly and repeatedly.

There's an instant change in Hartsy; he goes from sweet, mild-mannered cuddle hog to blazing angry like a switch was flipped. His fingers tighten around Dylan, and where the noise coming from his chest before had been some approximation of laughter, there's no mistaking the growl that erupts out of him now for anything other than what it is. Dylan freezes, not sure if he's in any immediate danger or not, but Hartsy is glaring at the door, tensing his body like—

Like he's going to spring to put himself between Dylan and whoever's making the noise, Dylan realises belatedly as the door swings open and Hartsy pretty much vaults him and hits the ground running.

"Hey," Dylan yells, pushing himself up as quickly as he can. "Hartsy! Don't hurt him!"

"What the _fuck_ ," Barz yelps as he's tackled into the other bed.

Hartsy is on top of Barz, knees bracketing his hips, both hands on his chest. He's leaning down, nose-to-nose with Barz, and the growling sound is still coming from low in his chest.

"Hartsy," Chabs says cautiously, from where he's standing in the doorway like someone who _didn't_ want to upset the nesting goalie. "Hey, buddy. That's Barz. You know Barz, and he's definitely an idiot, but he's team, right? He's team."

"Yeah," Barz says, and somehow his voice is normal, the same sort of casual that comes out of him when they're playing video games together. Dylan would probably be way more freaked out than Barz is right now, but then again, Barz is possibly insane. He proves it by lifting his hands and putting them on Hartsy's hips, almost cradling him. "You know me, Carter Harter. Remember? You stopped that sweet shot I took against you in Seattle last month. You know me."

Hartsy glances up at Chabs, then back at Barz. The growling has stopped, but he's still touching noses with Barz.

"It's okay," Chabs adds when nobody moves for a minute. "It's okay, Hartsy."

Hartsy makes a low noise, not a growl but not super thrilled-sounding, either, and then he collapses on top of Barz.

"Whoa, hey," Barz says, but Hartsy ignores him, grabbing for the duvet on Ingram's bed and dragging it towards them. "Uh, guys? A little help here?"

Hartsy stops moving and turns to look at Barz, but he's still on top of him; he ends up brushing their noses together, and then he makes a noise that sounds vaguely considering. Dylan watches as Hartsy pulls back a little, then leans in to bonk their noses together again, making the weird laughing noise from before and then resuming his duvet rescue mission.

"I think you live there now," Chabs says thoughtfully. When Dylan glances over, he's clearly hiding a grin. "I guess this answers the question of how we were going to rescue Stromer, though."

"What about me?" Barz asks as Hartsy pats him on the chest and then shifts, not really letting Barz up as much as rolling off of him and then cuddling back up as he hauls the duvet over them. "Guys?"

"He's chosen you," Dylan says, keeping his voice as solemn as possible. "You already pissed him off once today, Barz. Maybe just let him cuddle you a little now."

"Atonement," Chabs agrees as Hartsy pulls the duvet up and Barz disappears beneath it.

Dylan waits a beat, then two. "Hartsy?" he asks, hoping it doesn't make him pop out and come crawl back in with Dylan. "Hey, buddy, I'm gonna go get a shower and some food. You're okay with Barz, right?"

There's some shuffling from under the duvet, and then Hartsy's face pops out. He beams at Dylan, then pulls the duvet back up.

"Right," Dylan says. "Well, I guess we'll come switch someone else in later. Barz, you're fine, but maybe don't yell anymore, okay?"

"Yeah, fine," Barz says, his tone a lot less sour than his words. "Me and Hartsy will just chill, I guess."

"Chill is not the word you're looking for," Dylan advises as he walks towards the door. "Good luck with all the blankets you're about to be under, dude."

"Great," Barz says, sighing gustily as Dylan walks out the door.

He turns to Chabs. "Thanks for the rescue."

Chabs just grins. "Hey, what are friends for?"

"Abandoning other friends to goalie nests, apparently," Dylan says.

"Absolutely," Chabs says cheerily. "You get a shower, I'll grab food, and I'll meet you in your room after so we can talk about it?"

"Deal," Dylan says. "See you in a bit."

-0-

"So I think we need a schedule," Dylan says as he opens the door to let Chabs in.

"A schedule," Chabs repeats. He's holding a plastic shopping bag, and he holds it out for Dylan. There are two wrapped-up lumps that might be sandwiches and two containers of yogurt. "For Hartsy?"

"Yeah," Dylan says. "D'you like blueberry? I'll eat it, but I won't be thrilled about it."

"Yeah, give it here," Chabs says, sprawling on Dylan's bed and holding a hand out. "I think most of the guys would volunteer to spend some time with him."

"Right, I think so too," Dylan replies. He sits next to Chabs and they take a moment to dole out the food—the wrapped-up things are, indeed, breakfast sandwiches that they both inhale pretty quickly—and then he continues. "We don't want Hartsy to be alone, right? Or for any one person to have to give up a ton of time. Like, Ingram did it yesterday when it first started, and I did it last night, and Barz is there now."

Chabs nods. "So we make sure that you guys don't have to do it again."

"Sort of," Dylan says, stirring his yogurt. Strawberry is the best, hands down. "I mean, I'll do the overnights, I guess. I'm pretty good at sleeping with someone else in the bed with me, and that's kind of a lot to ask of somebody else."

Chabs snorts inelegantly. "Think again," he says. "We'll figure it out, man. The last thing we need is an exhausted captain heading into the round robin."

"The last thing we need is a goalie who would probably be more likely to attack the opposing team than guard his net," Dylan points out. "We'll figure it out."

"And you don't have to be the Team Canada martyr," Chabs says, tone patient. "I'm sure Juuls would be fine with taking a turn overnight. Teammates and all. And we both know Josty will cuddle up with anyone who sits still for long enough."

"Point," Dylan concedes. "Fine, okay. We'll trade other guys in."

"I vote we put the salad boys all in together," Chabs says, grinning. "Kale and Bean and Raddysh, with a nice Hart on top."

"Heart of palm," Dylan says, grinning when Chabs laughs. "We can get him one of those palm branch things that they have at Easter in church."

"It's the end of December," Chabs points out. "Gonna be hard to find."

"That's not a winning attitude," Dylan says, trying as hard as he can to sound like Coach Ducharme. "Come on, Thomas. You have to believe."

Chabs makes a face. "I _believe_ that you might be overthinking this," he says. "Does that count?"

Dylan shrugs. "Probably."

They're quiet for a moment; Dylan eats his yogurt, trying to figure out if there's anyone who won't be on board with the goalie cuddling thing, wondering if they can maybe double up on people and get Hartsy through this whole thing faster. _Team helps,_ Ingram had said, and if there's one thing Dylan made sure of this year, it was that this team felt as much like _team_ as they possibly could.

"So when do we rescue Barz?" Dylan asks when he's scraped the last remnants of yogurt out of the cup. "And who do we put in after him?"

"I made a spreadsheet," Chabs announces, showing Dylan his phone screen. "I think we can put Phil and Jér in next. I don't know if spreading things around the three leagues will help, but probably it won't hurt. You're O, Barz is in the dub..."

"What, not volunteering yourself?" Dylan asks, laughing when Chabs rolls his eyes. "You'd rather coordinate than sweat it out in the hoodie pile?"

"I figured I'd take tonight," Chabs says blandly. He scrolls down a little on his spreadsheet, and sure enough, the slot next to "overnight" is filled in with "Chabot." "So you can save your back or something."

Dylan rolls his eyes. "I'm not gonna stop you, man," he says, taking Chabs' phone from him. "Should we just fill it in and then see if anyone has an objection to the time we give them?"

"Probably easier than asking them to sign up for times," Chabs says. "Probably Clouder would just put his name in every slot. Or he'd put, like, Jozy in every slot."

"He'd put Fabbs in every slot," Dylan says, focusing on the spreadsheet. "And make some joke about how college should have prepared him for this."

"True," Chabs concedes. "Anyway, let's just fill it out and then call a team meeting. What's the worst that could happen?"

-0-

Dylan would sort of, kind of, maybe like to go back in time half an hour and put his hand over Chabs' mouth when he said the thing about "the worst that could happen," because the rest of their team is staring at them pretty blankly.

"So, uh," Stephens says. "You guys... came up with a schedule?"

"We did," Dylan confirms. "And if you have an issue with the way we split it up—"

"Uh, _yeah_ ," Mikey interjects, and Dylan looks over at him, surprised. Mikey's frowning at him. "I mean, I'm not speaking for all the guys, but why am I only on here for a couple of hours? I can cuddle the _hell_ out of Hartsy."

"Me too," Jozy pipes up. "I don't mind."

"Yeah, same," Cirelli says, and then the meeting descends into a more-or-less chaotic yelling match, with the guys arguing over who would be the best at cuddling Hartsy into his normal state of goalie weird instead of his extra-weird current state.

"This, uh," Chabs says under his breath, surveying the scene in front of them. "This is not the argument I was expecting to have."

"Tell me about it," Dylan says, snorting. "Fucking Team Canada, I swear to god."

"It might just be Clouder," Chabs points out, which, fair.

Dylan shrugs and glances at his watch. "I vote we get Phil and Jér out of here so they can tag in for Barz, and then we just let the rest of them figure it out," he suggests.

"Solid," Chabs says, nodding. "I'll go left, you go right?"

"As if they're not sitting together," Dylan says, rolling his eyes. "Whatever, man, I'm going in."

Chabs laughs, but Dylan notices that he doesn't follow. It's fine, honestly; the guys might be heatedly debating the best cuddling positions right now, but they're good people, great teammates. They'll get the schedule re-done to whatever standards they want, Dylan figures, and hopefully Hartsy will be back to normal before the round robin starts.

"Stromer," Phil says as Dylan approaches. "We're fine with going now. Let them fight."

"I plan to," Dylan says, shaking his head as Roy says something about pillowcases and thread count. "I want no part of settling this, trust me."

Jér laughs and stands, holding a hand out for Phil. "Let's rescue Barz," he says.

The elevator ride up to Hartsy's room is quiet; Phil's on his phone and Jér's looking at Phil, so Dylan does his best to mind his own business but not, like, in a weird way. His phone is still recovering from its night of not being plugged in, sadly, so he doesn't have anything to distract himself, but luckily the elevator dings before things get actually awkward.

Dylan doesn't knock on the door; he has no idea how Barz and Hartsy are hanging out, but he doesn't want to scare Hartsy into panic mode again. Once in a day is more than enough, so he slides Hartsy's key into the lock and opens the door calmly. "Hey, guys," he calls into the room. "I'm back, and I brought reinforcements."

"That is excellent news," Barz says. He sounds a little muffled, and Dylan bites his lip when he walks into the room; the duvet is pulled up all the way to the top of the bed, and the lump that must be Barz-and-Hartsy is right in the middle. "I would kill a man for a breath of fresh air."

"But not Hartsy," Jér says. "Hartsy's safe from your air-craving ways."

"I would kill a man for Hartsy, too," Barz says, and there's a happy purring kind of noise from under the blankets as they start to move. "Maybe we'd both like some fresh air, though."

Phil snorts. "I'm calling for fresh sheets," he says, glancing from Ingram's bed, where Barz and Hartsy have been all morning, to Hartsy's bed, where Dylan and Hartsy had cuddled all night. "No offense, Hartsy, but I don't want to marinate in the gross sweaty sheets you and Stromer slept in last night."

"Fair," Dylan says, shrugging. "I don't think you get a choice about the clothes pile, though."

Phil sighs as he walks towards the hotel phone on the desk. "I'll live."

"Probably," Jér adds, looking at the clothes. "Hey, Hartsy, what if we brought you different clothes, yeah? Some other shirts, from other guys."

There's an interested noise from beneath the duvet, and then it suddenly flies back, Hartsy sitting up and tossing it to the end of the bed. Barz gasps dramatically, inhaling deeply as the fresh air hits his face. Dylan grins; Barz is kind of a dramatic little shit, but he still has an arm wrapped around Hartsy's waist. He's a marshmallow at heart.

"I'll text Jozy," Jér promises, pulling his phone out as Phil talks to someone at the front desk. "He's with the rest of the guys. They can all bring some stuff up, and we can make you a nice clean new nest."

Hartsy smiles, big and bright. He looks down at Barz, then pats him very gently on the head three times before clambering over him and standing. He glances around, apparently taking in Dylan and Phil as well, and then he takes three bounding steps to Jér and throws his arms around Jér's shoulders.

"Uh," Jér says, stumbling back a little before steadying them both. "I guess you like that idea, eh?"

Hartsy coos and buries his face in Jér's shoulder.

"Right," Phil says. He sounds a little amused, and when Dylan looks over, he's grinning at Jér and Hartsy. "I'll go back our room and get some shirts, and then I'll be back. Hartsy, can you change shirts? Put on one of Connor's clean ones, and I'll bring back a few of ours, and you can put those on too. Clean shirts, okay?"

Hartsy whines a little, not moving from Jér's shoulder, but Jér taps him on the shoulder. "Clean shirts," he repeats. "And lots of them." The sound Hartsy lets out is a gusty kind of sigh, but Jér laughs. "You'll be fine."

"Uh," Dylan says, glancing at Barz, who's watching everything with a lot of interest, given that he just spent four hours curled up with Hartsy with no escape. "How do you... know all this?"

"Harvey," Phil and Jér say in unison.

"He had a long nest last year," Jér adds as Phil leaves. "We had to make him change. It would have been a health hazard."

"I can see why," Barz says, finally pushing himself up in the bed. "I don't know if Harts is usually this much of a furnace, but if that's a nesting thing..."

"It is," Jér confirms. "It gets gross."

"Ew," Dylan comments. "Hartsy, we're gonna make sure people are in here with you, buddy. Everybody's fighting over who gets to come up next." Hopefully it hasn't devolved too much in Dylan's absence; it's not that Dylan doubts Chabs' ability to keep the guys in check, but he's one guy in the face of most of the rest of a hockey team. "Juuls will probably be up soon, too."

"I'm up for a shower," Barz says, standing from the bed and stretching. He walks over and claps Hartsy gently on the shoulder. "It's been real, Carter Harter. Feel better soon, okay?"

Hartsy finally lifts his head from Jér's shoulder to give Barz the blinding smile he's been flashing all over the place today.

"Yeah," Barz says, tone of voice soft as he smiles back. "You'll be fine."

-0-

Dylan's not getting nervous, per se, but when Christmas evening rolls around and Hartsy's still not himself again, he...

Okay, fine. He gets nervous.

"How's he doing?" he asks quietly, trying to glance over Luc's shoulder to see if Hartsy has somehow changed in the past two hours while he's been Skyping with his family.

"He's the same," Luc says. He's... a lot bigger than Dylan realised, actually, because Dylan tries to lean on the door to maybe get a little bit of a better look, but Luc doesn't even have to adjust his weight to keep Dylan from inching the door open further. "He's cuddling with Speersy. Chabby told me not to let you back in here, Stromer."

"But I'm the captain," Dylan protests. "I'm just checking—"

"He told me to text him if you showed up here," Luc cuts in, raising one eyebrow. "I didn't, because you're the captain, but I can and will if you don't go away."

Dylan sighs and slumps against the door. Luc still doesn't have the decency to budge. "We play tomorrow," he says to the cool metal of the door.

"And he'll be ready, or he won't," Luc replies. "Go away. We're fine in here."

Dylan squints at him. "Barz would let me in."

"I am not Mat Barzal, and I thank god for that every day," Luc says firmly. "Get some sleep, man. If Hartsy isn't gonna be ready, we need everyone else to be, yeah?"

"Don't captain me, I'm the captain," Dylan grumbles, but he peels himself off the door and takes a step back. "Text me if—"

Luc shuts the door in his face.

Dylan blinks. "Rude," he mutters as he turns to head down the hallway to his own room.

It's not that he doesn't get it; he's a worrier and he knows it, but still, he doesn't think it would hurt anything to just let him check on Hartsy. It's not that Hartsy doesn't pick up on things like mood or tone of voice, but it also doesn't stop him from just aggressively cuddling whoever he's nearest to; Dylan could stress out in his general vicinity without it being an issue. Still, though, he knows that Chabs had told everyone else to cut off Dylan's access to Hartsy after he found Dylan there when he wasn't on the schedule twice in two days, and he also knows that Chabs would have no hesitation in dragging him out of Hartsy's room by brute force if he thought Dylan was losing sleep over the situation.

Well, joke's on Chabs, Dylan thinks grumpily as he unlocks his room and walks in. He's just gonna lose sleep over it in his own room, instead of doing it where Hartsy is.

He gets ready for bed mechanically, changing and washing his face and brushing his teeth without really giving it much thought. His bed looks kind of cold and uninviting, and it's not like sleeping with Hartsy had been _comfortable_ or anything like that, but at least it had been warm. Hartsy had wanted Dylan there, and there's something really nice about that. Maybe Dylan gets the whole goalie nesting thing a little more than he'd thought originally.

He gets into bed, shifting around a bunch to try to get comfortable. He's pretty sure he's not going to fall asleep at all tonight, or at least not for a while, but he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Maybe he'll just try to count to a thousand, see how far he gets before he gets too bored to continue.

Dylan's not sure how late it is when he wakes, a little startled. He doesn't remember drifting off, but he _does_ remember being quite alone in his room when he'd done so, and now there is very definitely someone crawling into his bed with him.

"What," he says, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes and willing himself to wake up faster.

Whoever it is laughs. "Man, how much were you freaking out if you crashed this hard?"

Dylan blinks again, pushing himself up so he's sitting. "Wait. _Hartsy?_ "

"I'm back," Hartsy says simply. He's fully in the bed now, under the covers with Dylan, sitting so their legs are pressed together. "Gauthier and Jozy wanted to call you, but I told them I'd tell you myself." Hartsy shifts a little. "Were you really there all the time?"

"No," Dylan says. "Not... _all_ the time."

"So yes," Hartsy translates. "There were three of your shirts in my nest."

"You wanted them," Dylan says defensively.

Hartsy laughs, and it's a quiet thing, but it's still nothing like the weird almost-laugh he'd still been doing when Dylan had dropped by early on Christmas morning. "And now I want my captain to get some sleep," he says. "Do I still get my every wish now that I'm through the nesting phase?"

Dylan laughs, too, and finally feels the stress drain from his shoulders. Not all of it, of course; the tournament starts in the morning, and he'd probably be useless to everyone if he was totally stress-free throughout it. He feels a lot better, though, middle-of-the-night tired with his goalie sitting next to him, fully human once again. "I can give in this once," he says lightly. "But I might need a human space heater to make it really worth my while."

"I guess I can handle that," Hartsy says. It's dark in the room, but Dylan can hear the smile in his voice as Hartsy scoots down in the bed. "Come cuddle me."

"I wanna be little spoon," Dylan says, sliding back down into the bed. "I let you cuddle up last time. Snuggle me, Hartsy."

Hartsy laughs again as they arrange themselves in the bed. "Sure thing, Cap. Gotta do what I can to make sure you're rested, so we can kick ass tomorrow."

Dylan smiles as he closes his eyes. "You know what, Hartsy? I think we will."

**Author's Note:**

> -AND THEN THEY WON FOREVER. (work with me here. my heart still hurts.)
> 
> -i managed to at least name drop every single player on that roster. i'm proud of myself for this attention to detail.
> 
> -follow me on twitter if you want to hear me ramble about things! DM me first to let me know who you are, because i don't accept requests from people i don't know :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] peace of mind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18651364) by [somehowunbroken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken)




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